


Until We Meet Again

by DragonCorny, NumberA



Category: Claymore
Genre: ClaymoreSanta2016, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9057910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonCorny/pseuds/DragonCorny, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NumberA/pseuds/NumberA
Summary: A short mood-piece about Teresa waiting for Clare in the afterlife.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written in, like, 24 hours for the 2016 Claymore Secret Santa by [DragonCorny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonCorny/pseuds/DragonCorny) who covered me when I had to drop out at the last minute. Thanks Dragon, much appreciate.

Four types of people came to the Crossroads. The first, and most common, were those who went straight through, continuing along the path that was set for them. Most travelled quickly, others slowly, and some stopped for a while. But in the end they all went on.  
The second type came shrouded in a darkness she did not fully understand. Like the first type, they came at different paces and took their own time crossing, but they seemed to slip through the seams of things as they walked away.  
The third type, uncommon but not unheard of, were those that came to the Crossroads, but turned and left the way they had come. As with the others, the time they took varied. Sometimes they would scarcely have entered the Crossroads before whirling about as though they had forgotten something, sometimes they turned, slowly and deliberately, mere steps from the far side. Other times they stopped and stood in the middle awhile before turning back.  
The last, and rarest, type were those who lingered, who felt no urge to continue or turn back. They lay by the roadside, staring up into the sky, watching over the ones they waited for. When she first arrived, there were few such, and none she recognized or wanted to get to know. But after a while - she knew not how long, time was different here - a large group with a familiar look came to the Crossroads.  
It was odd, seeing so many enter together. Stranger yet was that they all wanted to wait. At first there were seventeen, later fifteen, then ten, five, and four. She knew what they were, they had been like her when they were alive.  
\---  
She was watching the sky when one of them came over to her.  
“Who are you waiting for?” she asked.  
“My daughter," she answered, meeting silver eyes that were a mirror of her own. “And you?”  
“Friends.” The younger girl smiled, gesturing at the four who remained with her. “We are waiting for our comrades."  
“You were warriors.”  
The other girl nodded, gesturing towards another with a tight, neat ponytail. “She was Number Thirteen. Number Eleven.” She pointed at the girl with long, straight hair and muscles bulging with Yoki; “Number Eight.” This one was almost delicate, wavy hair framing her face. “And I, I was Number Nine."  
She nodded.“I was Number One.”  
The girl’s eyes widened. She bowed, and returned to her comrades.  
It was a while before they spoke again.  
\---  
When they did, she was watching them and not the sky. They had died younger than she had. She saw it in the look in their eyes and the way they held themselves. It was not uncommon for warriors to fall in the line of duty, most did, but it was seldom so many died at once.  
“There were twenty-four of us.” The Number Nine said, answering the question that lay unasked on her tounge. “We were in the North, sent to stall, to die.” Her face grew sad. “All of us would have died, but thanks to our Captain seven did not. We are waiting for them.”  
\--  
The third time they spoke was when all four of them came over to her.  
Eleven crossed her arms. "You've been waiting here a while."  
She raised an eyebrow.  
“There is not much to do." said Thirteen, almost apologetically. "We were hoping… You are an older warrior. It would be interesting to hear your tales.”  
She frowned. She preferred to be alone, interacting with others was not something that appealed to her. Four pairs of silver eyes looked at her and she wondered when she had gone so soft. She sighed, gesturing to the otheres to sit.  
She told them of her time as a trainee, then of her rising of a warrior; of how she grew cold and distant under the burden of her title.  
An unwilling, but not unwanted, smile came to her lips as she spoke of her daughter; how stubbord she had been despite her best efforts to push her away and how, in the end, the girl had taught her that tears could flow even from her silver eyes.  
Nine smiled. "She sounds remarkable."  
“She is.” The woman looked up at the sky, to where the warrior who that child had become still fought. “She went against my wishes and chose to be a warrior, but she is so strong and has come so far.”  
\---  
One day, another warrior, her long hair bound into a neat, braided bun, came to the Crossroads. She saluted the four who lingered, walking up the bank to speak with them. Sound carried well enough here that she could hear their conversation if she tried, but she had no place in a reuinion of old comrades, and left them to themselves until she heard a single word:  
"Clare."  
She strode over to the newcomer. All five of them turned to face her as she approached.  
She examined the face of the newcomer, realising that she'd seen her in the sky mere moments before.  
“You knew my Clare?”  
\---  
One by one, the others came; each one bringing stories of themselves and of her beloved Clare. She heard of her daughter's loyalty, strength, and compassion, and took pride in the warrior that stubborn child had become.  
Then someone showed up that she was not expecting, a silver-haired warrior with a long, elegant face. Some of the others knew her and hailed her as she passed, but it was in front of her that the newcomer stopped. She smiled, wry but sincere, remembering their last encounter.  
“It is good to see you again, Irene."  
\---  
She was lying on her back, eyes closed, listening to her companions' conversation, when she heard footsteps on the road stop and soften as whoever had come approached her. She sat up to see who it was, meeting silver eyes that had once been green.  
She was on her feet within seconds, just in time to catch the shorter warrior in an embrace as she leapt into her arms.  
“Teresa!" Clare cried, and then they were hugging and weeping as the others came over. Then there was more hugging, and more weeping, and then, finally, it was time.  
"Where to now?" She asked, smiling at Clare and at the Number Nine, Jean, who would be joining them.  
"Home." Clare answered, taking her hand, and, together, they walked down the road.


End file.
